That Butler, Bedded
by Playgirl Eugene
Summary: What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?


**THAT BUTLER, BEDDED**

**Author: **playgirl_eugene

**Pairing:** Sebastian x Ciel

**Genre: **AU, drama, romance, thriller, suspense, psychological, mystery

**Warning(s):** Slash/yaoi/male x male, implicit sexual situations, non-graphic sex, slight religious conflict

**Rating: **T-PG/15

**Disclaimer:** Black Butler and all of the characters, including the original plot and situations, are created and owned by Toboso Yana-sensei. This fic is purely fictional and I do not earn profit of any kind and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?

**Author Note:** UNEDITED. Planning to proof-read soon. I think. This draft was made in April 2010. My first ever Kuroshitsuji fanfic. Meh, probably my last too. I couldn't resist it because Toboso Yana made it impossible not to think something dirty when reading and watching the series: tsundere boochan and seme butler? Pedo-bondage, anyone? I can _hear_ the whip cracking. Slightly inspired by Howard Jacobson's _The Act of Love,_ and fic _Playing the Game_, by tsusami.

* Backward-forward pace and ignores the canon age. _Italic text is the flashback._ Normal text is the present. *

* * *

_Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score;  
Then to that twenty, add a hundred more:  
A thousand to that hundred: so kiss on,  
To make that thousand up a million.  
Treble that million, and when that is done,  
Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun.  
_**Robert Herrick**

**- x - x - x -  
**

_Ciel remembered a time when he used to go to the church with his parents. He'd wear one of his best jackets and a blue ribbon that matched Vincent's, and he would cling to his mother's hand. His parents were all adoring smiles and gentle touches._

_The church was a beautiful place, all oblique gothic beaux-art, arched platforms and tinted windows, and it was so perfect that Ciel would feel as if he was closer to the God and the cherubs painted on the high ceilings as if they were really watching over him, as if he could hear His Voice whenever he heard the hymns._

_He'd stare ahead with wonder, as if expecting the Door of Heaven will open from the sky and a ladder will be dropped from a high, high place and they could all go there._

"_When you pray, what did you ask of God, Mother?" he had asked._

_Rachel would smile and gently tucked his hair behind his ear. "I pray that God will always answer your prayers, Ciel."_

_He looked at her in amazement. "Will He really?"_

"_Of course He will. We are all His children, His white lambs. He will watch over us from the darkness and the wolves."_

_Ciel had truly believed his mother's words. He really did._

_That was why, in pain and in slavery and in helplessness, he had prayed and begged for a God's miracle. Ironically, a demon (the proverbial wolf to His white lambs) answered him instead._

_Ciel never went to the church again after that._

_At least until one day, fierce Lady Frances came knocking and literally threatened him something bloody to attend the mass ("Preposterous! Unacceptable!") and the then twelve-year-old Ciel did not bother to make it a secret that he did not want to go._

"_Are you not a believer, boochan?" Sebastian asked, amused—of course he'd be amused by Ciel's plight, he was a bloody demon—as he draped the formal, high-collared blue jacket on Ciel's shoulder, dressing him for the mass. This is hilarious; a demon dressing him to go for a mass.  
_

_Ciel snorted, he had only caved in to Lady Frances when Lizzie was finally involved in the argument, using the more feminist tact of trembling lips and wide, shimmering-with-tears-that-will-never-shed-green eyes on him. Like a hapless puppy._

_Ciel had no sympathy for small, helpless animals, but Lizzie was… well, Lizzie and it made all the differences._

"_Do you not wish to, at least, ask to be able to go to Heaven?"_

"_Are you honestly expecting an answer for that?" Ciel snapped, face incredulous and annoyed._

_Sebastian chuckled, a low, velvety sound that chilled Ciel's inside. "I thought all humans aspire to go to Heaven, why I do not understand because I simply do not hold any affinity for the place." Ciel scoffed, "I personally believe that it's better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven. However, I do wonder the reason of your apparent heresy, boochan."_

_Ciel titled his head to a side, "Not heresy. But unless demons were sent to do God's favours, I supposed I am a fundamentalist."_

_Sebastian looked up at him. "Fundamentalist, is it?"_

"_Regardless of our faith, or the lack thereof, we are all devout." Ciel had answered as he shrugged his arms into the silk sleeves, "And I do not deny His existence; I simply believe in His abandoning me and that I've sold my soul to the ultimate evil because I've lost faith in the ultimate good, thus I am at the altar of disbelief."_

"_Ah, but that's where you're wrong, boochan." Sebastian playfully tut, long finger waving in mock chastise. "That is a very narrow-minded way of thinking. I'd have expected better of you."_

_Ciel shot him a withering glare, "What are you blabbering about now?"_

"_The ultimate good and evil are not churches and devils, boochan. The ultimate good exists within the good deed itself, thus pathway to heaven is paved with good intentions. While the ultimate evil, it dwells within humans. It is what feed us, rear us, us of the other realm."_

_His butler lips slowly stretched into a smile that had Ciel itching to hit him where it hurt with the cane. Where it hurt the most for demons anyway?_

"_Churches and demons are more like, say, accessories: the pornographic complementary elements." Sebastian buttoned the last button and brushed the back of his finger fleetingly against his boochan's frowning face before holding up the top hat, "We are the picky, chill, sepulchral balance of common sense and humanity, so to speak. Demons encourage humans; tempt them, coddle them, just like how moral rears their desires of flesh."_

_Ciel made a face as he flicked a loose lock of hair out of his face._

"_For a demon, you sure like to preach about philosophic hypocrisy, Sebastian." Ciel growled as he snatched the top hat from Sebastian's hand (he rarely wore gloves anymore when washing and dressing him since a while ago and the sensation of cold-skin-against-colder-skin brought half-exciting half-sordid tingles up Ciel's spine), fighting the urge to flinch back when Sebastian unnecessarily brushed against his bare hands. "And I hate preaching."_

"_But of course, my Lord—"_

"_However I will admit that you are my, as you said, pornographic complement," The Earl spat with another glare, gesturing to the rather minimal space separating them._

_Oh, he's flushing. Oh, he feels harassed, Sebastian thought with glee, red eyes darkening._

"_After all between us is like sexual violation waiting to happen, isn't it, you sick pedo?"_

_Sebastian laughed._

* * *

_Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.  
_**Romeo Montague, Shakespeare**

******- x - x - x -**

Ciel sat on his armchair, fingers drumming lazily and smooth, willowy legs encased in gartered silk stocking socks and two inches pump oxfords crossed delicately, his face—cradled by the back of an accessorized pale hand—quietly thoughtful as he studied the glass and chrome chessboard he was playing against himself, looking like he was mentally toying with the ploy of humanity domination with the world as its grand proverbial board.

On a face that was only, barely, sixteen, that look was oddly fitting on the young Earl.

There was a polite knock on the door, a precise three times, and a voice, "You called, boochan?"

Ciel did not look up even when Sebastian closed the door behind him. Instead he closed his eyes and leaned back on his armchair. Unfolding his legs slowly, Ciel propped his elbow on the armrest and lifted his left leg, then he raised his eyes to Sebastian and said, "It's undone. Lace it up."

Sebastian raised a smooth eyebrow, even as he obeyed indulgently and sank to his knee in front of Ciel. As his long, deft fingers tightened a flawless knot with practiced ease, the butler spoke in mild reproach, "I should think that the boochan is old enough to know how to tie his own shoes."

His blue eye narrowing in slight annoyance, Ciel raised his leg higher until the end point of his oxford touched against Sebastian's smooth chin. He tipped the demon's face upward—Sebastian complying the gesture with a slow mocking smile—and found himself staring into amused, deep, red eyes.

"Why would I do that when I have you?" Ciel asked almost gently cruel, the corners his own lips curling slightly upward spitefully. "Besides, I rather like the view of you in this position. It's becoming of a dog."

He prodded harder against Sebastian, subtly turning the handsome face to a side, murmuring softly, "Hmm. Should I strap you, Sebastian? Or a collar, perhaps? Sebastian (1) used to wear collars—I like the diamond buckled kind, but for you… hmm. Well, even dogs have their own class, I guess. I think I'll strap you to my bedpost."

Sebastian's red eyes gleamed, the red breadth of his irises turning even wider, brighter. "My, my… Master, I certainly wasn't expecting you to have such… inclinations. How pleasantly kinky."

_When did "boochan" sometimes become "master?"_

"Apparently, I do. Or so Lau said," said Ciel, almost carelessly, before he titled his head slightly to the side, a thoughtful look on his face. "For a while, I've been wondering, if like this, would you lick my shoe, Sebastian? Kiss my feet?"

Sebastian frowned, "I've just tied your strings, boochan."

"Undo them. You can always tie it again." Ciel titled his head the other side, "That's your job, after all."

For a fleeting moment, it felt like Sebastian was trying to strip him mind, and soul, with his eyes—each of them, owner and butler, holding a gaze against the other—before he answered, "If that is your order, then yes, my Lord."

"_Yes, my Lord."_

Oh, Ciel loved and hated those words.

"Lick it then."

Sebastian glanced at him before lowering his mouth, licking the smooth texture of expensive leather, distinct on his palate, before smoothly removing the footwear, cupping Ciel's pale and delicate foot with both hands like it was Egyptian antique and kissing the tip of his toe, the side of his ankle, the pulse under the skin reverently.

Ciel had promised himself that he'd not lose control. He really did: it was rather beneath of him admittedly and he knew that Sebastian would respond like this. But that smug look on the butler's face had set him off. Suddenly furious, he lowered his leg, stood up, and back handed Sebastian (purposely using his ring hand) across the face.

The impact—and the edge of his signet ring—snapped Sebastian's face to a side, bruising and breaking the skin at the corner of his mouth. Ciel could see blood, but he was too furious to care. It wasn't like Sebastian going to be affected by a scratch.

"You'd lick my boots but you'd rather I treat you like a dog than to _kiss_ me?!"

Sebastian offered no reply and Ciel's gloved hands curled into fists, his delicate features nearly taut as he glared glacially at his butler. He turned around, and spat, "Get out. Now. I don't want to see your face until dinner."

He did not acknowledge the bow Sebastian gave him before he vanished from the study, silent as the shadow cast by the glow of reddish fire.

* * *

_What lies lurk in kisses.  
_**Heinrich Heine**

******- x - x - x -**

_The Hanged Man, the Devil, the Tower._

_The arrangement suited them aptly._

_When the contract began, Ciel was a barely child. He was quite beautiful for a human child; his insolence made it even more so._

_It was one of the reasons why Sebastian answered his summon. Ciel's soul was lustrous and tainted and broken, and he was everything Sebastian could appreciate in a meal but Sebastian was the devil and he always welcomed everything immoral, and illusions and beauty and love, especially when together, had always been the worst kind of depravity to exist in a human._

_Childhood gave Ciel this alluring scent of open innocence. When the boy lowered his chin, there was delicate buoyancy; when he lifted his gaze, he had a curious flicker in his eyes (that lingered, though dimmed, when in the face of Lady Elizabeth or Prince Soma, even after their contract). Sebastian did not know Ciel when he was still younger and smiling__—__who would probably fascinate him, but not arouse him__—__but whatever was left of that Ciel had merged with the Earl of Phantomhive, and it made Sebastian someone he called "boochan."_

_Someone who was the Hanged Man._

_Adolescence, however, was like the five o'clock of a time piece: when all the hours reached a quivering axis, the day exhausted and the wheels of the evening made London's dark, shoddy alleyways seemed even narrower, more menacing, as every preternatural dwellers burst to life._

_Ciel never phased that awkward stage, having raced through maturity like his mind that had transitioned from eleven to a cynical, pragmatic forty in a single setting; his body simply gave way to spry, elongated limbs and a slender outline. His face, set-off by eyes like Atlantis, a civilization that Sebastian had only ever seen once in his long life, and a coy smile on glossy lips, gave an illusion of pixie-faced debutantes in the drawing room after dinner._

_Now, when he turned away, he exposed a pale line of elegant neck, when he titled his head to the side, there was a subtle loftiness, every gesture was a show and eager to seduce its audience. Ciel Phantomhive moved through a garden soiree like a hooker on strip-mission: leaving a trail of sophisticated socialites, who mistook their precariousness for the Earl's, panting for his attention._

_Sebastian would shake his head and smiled in a pitying manner as he served those very same people Earl Grey and sweetened pastries. Despite their falling all over in attempt for the hand and elusive heart of his dear, dear boochan, Ciel (his soul at the last) could never belong to any of them, never wholly. Not even Lady Elizabeth._

_Because, as Ciel Phantomhive owned Sebastian Michaelis, the demon owned the boy._

_It was a conceit so lewd; Sebastian could hardly breathe to contain himself from imagining Ciel imagining the nature of their… contract._

_The Hanged Man (sacrifice), the Devil (temptation), the Tower (ordeal)._

_Sebastian was the Devil._

* * *

_Once he drew, with one long kiss my whole soul thro'_  
_my lips, as sunlight drinketh dew._  
**Alfred Lord Tennyson**

******- x - x - x -**

Ciel always remembered things in two ways: he remembered his mother, but in ways that people remembered a beautiful scenery ("The sky was blue," "Her eyes were blue," "The flower was red," "Her lips were bright red," "That night was snowing," "Her skin was pale,") but on the other hand, his father's face was there on the other side of his eyelids, subjective and predominant and absolute.

Arrogant, frivolous Sebastian came through the other (under) world with _that_ face, his father's face, the only salvation—his sanctuary, his escape—in his humiliation and in his shame under the faceless monsters who raped and tortured him.

The first thing he did after Sebastian devoured their souls was to spit on that too perfect face (even the eyes, though the colour was red and dead, but somehow, they were eerily similar).

_How dare that demon—_

But as he grew older, grew too used to Sebastian wearing his father's skin (bathing him, tending him, tucking him, dressing him, _undressing_ him) and the feel of those inhuman fingers on his skin, he began to think about that face more often—the mocking smile, the insatiable hunger in those eyes—and wondered: _is it incest when you want to lay in bed with someone who has your father's face?_

He didn't knew whether that burning lust pooling like venom and honey and understated Earl Grey under his tongue, on the roof of his mouth, low in his belly was from the strained, sexually tense pseudo-master-and-slave relationship they shared (his fetish in the face of absolute obedience) or just because Sebastian resembled his father in ways Ciel didn't remember and he just really missed parental love and nurture in some really sick and perverted way.

None of the reasons were really comforting. Not that Ciel really cared too because he just wanted to screw (or be screwed, whatever) his butler and Ciel, like any other Phantomhive worth their tea-in-Italian-china, placed results above the means (after all, he did sell his soul for revenge).

_So—_

Ciel kissed him.

It was out of the blue, on a whim, maybe because he was still half-asleep and lacking tea in his system, when Sebastian was leaning down just enough—the right height and tilt and just so convenient—when he was fixing Ciel's ribbon around the neck and Ciel just had to turn a little and their lips were pressing against one another.

People said that a kiss seals marriages and families and souls. Ciel had kissed before, but he never cared for those things.

It was mostly chaste, all things considered—proper and close-lipped—but Sebastian had gently pushed him away, made a tsk-ing sound when the tie came undone again from Ciel's sudden movement and left the room after successfully tying the bow.

He made no mention of the kiss after that.

Ciel had never felt so humiliated since his capture.

* * *

"_Wouldn't it be good to forget everything even if it's just for tonight?  
Indulge in pleasure… breathe a sweet poison deep into your lungs…"  
_**Sebastian Michaelis, Toboso Yana**

******- x - x - x -**

_To Vincent Phantomhive, his little boy, his pride, his Ciel, was the light of his life. His sin, his soul. Ci-el, and all the glory of Heavens and Angels fell two steps down at the tip of the tongue, down to the palate, then to the heart and lungs and stomach._

_Ciel, his. Half of Rachel's, but wholly, his._

_His when Ciel was placed in his arms, wrinkly pink skin and all-seeing blue eyes. His when Ciel was barely three, standing and wide-eyed at his barely-knee-height in one sock and clinging to his slacks. His on the dotted lines over flat white parchment. His in Vincent's arms, in the imaginary princedom by the sea with flying unicorns and castle on the clouds that he'd read to his little boy every night._

_He would give the world by Ciel's tiny adorable feet, in a tangle of thorn. Because not even the world was good enough for the little prince._

_He sympathized with beautiful children of the world, with Virgil, with Dante who fell madly in love with the nine-year-old Beatrice, with Petrarch who fell in love with the bejewelled Laureen of Vaucluse, with lonely sailors who fell in love with underage, powdered Japanese girls, of Greek gods who fell in love with the delicate, mortal princes of Trojan._

_It was wrong and perverted and every time he went to the Church—on one arm, his beautiful and innocent Rachel with a heart of gold, on the other, his perfect Ciel that the noble, winged seraphs envied—he would kneel before the altar and prayed._

_He prayed for his sins, for forgiveness, for obscurity, for the world for his Ciel._

_Maybe then, God and seraphs had turned away from him, like how all sinners were damned, disgusted by his wickedness._

_Maybe it was then that the Devil had heard him, the echoes of his heart's desire._

_The night when the fire happened, he wondered if it was his punishment. His heart went to his wife, who died in pain and unbearable heat that she did not deserve._

_Then, he saw it—in the broken mirror, a swirl of black and evil, glimpses of leather and black nails, a slice of smile, a gaze of red through the lick of flames—and Vincent immediately recognized him, no question asked._

_There was no fear—maybe Death was too near and Vincent was too numb—but there was curiosity and Vincent turned to him like he could offer him salvation, because God or Devil, right now, it really didn't matter._

"_My little boy, my Ciel, is he safe?" He was nearly begging, desperate._

_Black and Evil smiled unsettlingly, "He could be. If you want it to be."_

_Vincent knew how the Devil worked. It couldn't be different than a noble businessman, because there could only be the Devil at work in a business negotiation where money and greed predominated._

"_My son must live. Take my soul, if you will. If this is my punishment, Ciel will not be the one to suffer it."_

_The Devil titled his head—was it the head, really—and charmingly said, "I've heard of your desires, your sins. Your soul is black." He paused, slow and patient as if they were having tea and Vincent was not standing in the middle of hell-like walls. "But then, your son seems so lovely. I've been waiting for an opportunity to sample him since."_

"_You can't have us both." Vincent said, "I will not allow it."_

"_I will have what I desire when I desire it, mortal." There was a snort, and then, a laugh—cold, chilling, velvet and ice—and Vincent coughed as black smog crowded him and his lungs. "But yes, for now, your soul will do."_

"_You will save my son?" Vincent asked, eyes wide and chest bursting in pain. He knew better than to trust a devil, a demon, but anything for his Ciel._

"_He will escape the fire."_

_He will not escape what came after; the Devil did not tell Vincent. Your son will come to me when it is his time, willingly, agonizingly ripe and willing._

"_Thank God__…__" Vincent breathed out, even as he breathed in poison deep into his lungs. "Thank God."_

"_Oh, but there is no God here." The Devil laughed, as flame finally consumed Vincent Phantomhive and he casually stepped out of the mirror just before the human was burned into nothingness._

_He leaned down, pressing his lips against the burnt, black flesh that used to be Vincent's lips, and sighed in delight as if he had just sampled apple-and-honey treat when (memories, emotions, darkness, soul of) Vincent Phantomhive seeped into him, into his skin, somewhat filling an insatiable, eternal hunger like pitiless black hole within him._

"_There is only me."_

_And then, he was gone._

* * *

_A kiss seals two souls for a moment in time.  
_**Levende Waters**

******- x - x - x -**

_He wasn't sure whether it was curiosity, some sort of power kink that he'd always had, or that his young master just really liked sex._

_Sebastian supposed it already started that one afternoon when Lau came to visit._

_The Chinese had let himself into the mansion uninvited as usual, but Ran Mao was strangely absent from decorating his lap. What begin with Ciel's irritation was gone when Lau, with his long pipe and snake-like smile, had leaned close, so very close over Ciel's armchair, and there was a caress here, innocent touches there, and the languid smile on his boochan's lips and the lowering of his long lashes were coy as they came._

_Sebastian had politely looked away when Lau placed his hand on Ciel's gartered thigh and flirted upward._

_It might have been earlier when Prince Soma had taken upon himself as Ciel's "best friend" to spend the night to play with Ciel, even with Ciel's endless rants and protests._

_His boochan had seduced a flustered Agni in the kitchen when everyone else but Sebastian had fallen asleep. Sebastian knew his boochan was very aware that he was still awake, will always be, and knew everything that happened in the mansion._

_Ciel had that smile again on his lips, so impious and domineering that it weaken knees and shame devils, as he whispered against Agni's ear, one pale hand stroking the back of Agni's neck, the other guiding Agni's slightly trembling hand between the silky interior of his thighs, moaning wantonly until Agni's rather admirable self-restraints snapped before he pounced, pressing and spreading the Earl against the table where the staff would have breakfast in a few hours._

_Ciel had looked eager and triumphant, back arching to accommodate Agni into his arms and tossing his head back, eye catching and meeting Sebastian's impassive ones through the crack of the door-the light from the candles Sebastian carried illuminating the red orbs eerily—before a salacious grin stole on his sex flushed face. He moaned unnecessarily loud before Sebastian softly closed the door, flipped his pocket watch, and wondered about the breakfast menu._

_Vindictive, sexually effervescent younger masters were always exhausting to deal with. Especially in the mornings when he was cranky and demanding delicate, properly English breakfast._

_His not-so-little-now master would make a fine demon in another lifetime._

_Sebastian sometimes wondered what would Lady Elizabeth think (how crushed she would be) if she ever find out about her "adorable Ciel-kun" and how he had grown into a different reality than hers and would spread his legs for other men, for whichever purpose or pleasure, when he had never kissed her anywhere but on the cheek and the back-of-hand._

_Ciel made a pointed effort to protect her delusions of him, and thus, her innocence that the Earl cherished so much._

_Sheltered as she was, even by Ciel (especially by Ciel who in a way loved, indulged and spoiled and sometimes despised her and her naïve ideals of life and love and marriage), Sebastian doubted that Lady Elizabeth was aware—though the whole noble residents of the Queen's country certainly did—that an Earl would have his affairs, for no self-respecting aristocrat of Old England earldom could be without a few lovers, like they could never be with too many scandals and the thin-skinned upper class knew how to keep things under-the-table, a society rule that all socialites knew, just in case their own secrets were out in this very private, exclusive public._

_Ciel was involved with Lau and Agni to an extent—just how far, Sebastian was not sure—though there was a conceit in Sebastian, one that believed that Lau and Agni and all those others were just a warm-up for Ciel, the appetizer course before he moved on to main treat: Sebastian himself._

_He supposed he should feel flattered. His boochan was a picky, scrupulous brat after all._

_Only the best for the Phantomhive._

* * *

_When I kiss you, I can taste your soul.  
_**Carrie Latet**

******- x - x - x -**

So they were lying in a mass of bloodied, disintegrated limbs and overall destruction.

It was strangely romantic, exotic even, because Ciel was floating somewhere between unconsciousness and peace-at-heart. He was bleeding in the mouth, blood pushed from punctured lungs, skin open and burning, he knew his kidney was half-destroyed (his _body_ was half-destroyed) and he had lost his remaining eye.

He knew that he could—would—die at anytime right now, but he was too content to care, satisfaction of revenge delivered thrumming in his system.

Ciel never feared death anyway. He lived with it daily in the form of a housekeeper, if it could be just a little degrading than a butler, and figures such as Grell and Undertaker took away all eeriness of death long ago.

It didn't surprise him when Sebastian suddenly gathered him into his arms and lifted him effortlessly, as he always would, looking not a hair and speck out of place. It annoyed him how implacable Sebastian was sometimes. It made him want to do something _bad_ just to ruffle the demon.

_Ciel felt so sleepy, at ease in the arm of a demon, like he could sleep for a long, long time._

His butler tenderly kissed his forehead, the gesture almost loving and beautiful in a frame, and brought them somewhere unknown, filled with white roses and ghosts of the past, behind them a trail of black feathers like a crow's.

And Sebastian kissed him there.

* * *

'_Twas not my lips you kissed—  
_**Judy Garland**

******- x - x - x -**

Ciel pushed Sebastian away, hard, as he tasted chill and blood and _pain._ Ciel tried to puke, as he covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes frantic. He was… surprised. Unlike the rest of him that nearly felt… human (nearly)… Sebastian's lips felt like everything you'd expect of a demon: it was warm, aged (like wine), dark (like chocolate), sensual, yet altogether, _putrid._

_Rotting. Hurt._

_Dying._

"We demons are sensualists by nature, boochan, hedonistic, egoists. However, we do not feed as we bed humans. Instead, we sate ourselves through the most innocent and chaste of sexual acts: a kiss." Sebastian whispered reverently as he caressed Ciel's cheek, adoring eyes fasting on the cupid-bowed, pouting lips that were swollen and slightly bruised.

"I did not kiss your lips, boochan, I kissed your soul, and from it I derive _pleasure_. You can't even imagine _how much."_

Ciel shivered when Sebastian's other hand moved up, inching closer to between his legs. Suddenly, his pain and fatigue were left in a faraway dark corner and all his senses were high and _so aware._

"And every time we perform this… deed, a little part of me will be pushed into you, as parts of you merge with me. Making us one, blurring the lines of our bodies until we do not know when one starts and the other ends… just like making love."

He rubbed the plump lower flesh, flicking sharp, black nails until the flesh cracked and bleed, smiling wider when Ciel flinched slightly but did not pull away. Of course, if anything, his fearless nature made his boochan all the more lovely.

"Besides, did you humans not think it's romantic to die by a kiss?"

As Sebastian nibbled and sucked on his lower lip, Ciel should be pushing him away. This demon was going to swallow him whole.

But he didn't.

He wasn't sure if he was too drained or just because he simply wanted _this:_ Sebastian or the kiss, whichever offered to him.

Sebastian then leaned in for another full-blown, _soul_ful_,_ _heart-stopping_ kiss (gazing adoringly, worshiping him with a reverence that bordered on abnormal, frightening and it was as if Sebastian would never stop and tire of kissing him, will never let him go, stroking and cradling and enveloping him in a desperate warmth, opening his mouth wider and delve deeper, _suck_ and Ciel had to wonder—

* * *

_What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?  
_**Robert Browning, ****A Toccata of Galuppi's**

******- x - x - x -**

_It was dark here. Quiet. Time slipped away silently like a whisper of the devil._

_Ciel slept._

_The demon watched on._

* * *

'_Twas not my lips you kissed—_

—_but my soul.  
_**Judy Garland.**

******- x - x - x -**

**End's Note:** So, uh, happy ending? Sort of. Thrilling? Dunno. I don't think I can ever do a happy ending Kuroshitsuji without being crackish. And yeah, I hope y'all enjoyed that as much as I enjoyed writing it. I can't help but think it's a little OOC, but then again, aren't all fanfic about tuning hot bishies into your sick fantasies? Again, I hope no one's offended by the slight… err, religious issues. I'm a Catholic and a believer, but it's just a view that I picked up while growing up. I am not sure about the rating. Please notify if you think I should've… I dunno, raised it a bit?

_(1) Ciel was referring to Sebastian the dog, whose name was given to Sebastian the demon out of Ciel's irritation when Sebastian appeared using Vincent's form_


End file.
